


Less is More

by Damalia (Achrya)



Series: SnK Modern A/B/O [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha Armin, Alpha Marco Bott, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Babies, Breaking Up & Making Up, Fluff, Language, M/M, Male Lactation, Marriage, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Omega Eren, Omega Jean Kirstein, Silly, Slice of Life, questionable parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6543826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Life, in Jean’s opinion, was weird and mostly made up of shit people never got around to talking to you about. He was pretty sure he had it, Life, all figured out by the time he's ten.</em><br/> <br/>Some people have fun or cute stories about what they were doing when they went into labor. Jean is not one of those people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self indulgent domestic ABO stuff, featuring pregnant Jean, quietly panicking Marco (trust me, it's happening, and incredibly tired Eren and Armin.

Life, in Jean’s opinion, was weird and mostly made up of shit people never got around to talking to you about.

He was pretty sure he had it, Life, figured out by the time he was ten. He just knew he’d take after his father and sister Hitch and be a beta and that he'd be an astronaut who was also a spy and raced cars. 

It hadn’t worked out exactly like that because at twelve he went into heat for the first time, taking after his omega mother in the secondary gender department. Also he would never become a spy and his eye sight was shit so astronaut was right out. 

It wasn’t a big deal that he turned out to be an omega, not really, just unexpected and meant some really terrible sex ed classes and awkward moments any time he got horny. No one ever explained how inconvenient not just getting hard but getting wet could be when all it took was a hard breeze to get you going. 

And no one ever explained about suddenly thinking his best friend smelled nice. And not just nice but amazing, like something that made him hot and sweaty and reduced him to confused stuttering when they were alone.

He was pretty sure he had it all worked out again by seventeen when he was head over heels in love with his best friend. They were going to go to college, get great jobs, get married, and be together forever. He was knotted for the first time in his bedroom on a sticky hot September Saturday morning. They’d done everything except ‘gone all the way’. They talked about it, made plans that always seemed to fall apart, wanted it to be just right but that morning, with his parents gone for hours and Marco up in his room with nothing to but make out lazily and a drawer full of condoms he’d shyly bought two months before and had been waiting to use since, had seemed like the right time. 

He remembered it both fondly and with embarrassed amusement. It was weird and strange and gross and satisfying and none of what he learned health class really got him ready to be stuck with Marco inside of him for what seemed like forever 

It was sort of awful in hindsight, two teenagers with no real idea what they were doing, uncomfortable positions and eventually being thirsty and cranky because as it turns out teenage boys can knot for hours and you’d think that was something someone would have mentioned at some point. Even Marco had seemed alarmed. Jean, mostly, had been sore. For days. 

At nineteen, in separate colleges because they didn’t get accepted to the same place, with a few states between them, he’d been sure the breakup was the right thing. He didn’t feel good about it and it wasn’t that there was someone else (in that moment with his heart squeezed so tightly and eyes burning he’d been sure there could never be anyone else) but they weren’t really happy and they argued most of the time and...it was just easier. Marco agreed, even though he looked just as crushed as Jean felt, and maybe they both hesitated to end the skype call and maybe Jean cried for days after and felt like an idiot while he did it but god, no one has ever said breaking up was this hard. 

At twenty three he was pretty sure he hated dating and was giving up. He’d gone out with more than a few people, got serious with a couple, moved in with one, moved out when he caught her with someone else, and was doing a whole bitter artist thing that seemed to suit him. Or as bitter as a middle school art teacher could be. He loved the kids he worked with, loved his one room (plus bathroom) apartment with it’s high ceilings and huge windows and lack of walls and he’d thought that was the life he wanted forever. He wasn’t alone, he had great friends and a good family, and he wasn’t unhappy and no one had ever told him not being with someone was okay but he thinks maybe it is.

At twenty three he bumps into Marco at Eren and Armin’s wedding (the inevitable event that everyone had been waiting for since they were six) and it was like being punched in the gut because for all of their promises to stay in touch and be friends they’d drifted. It sucked but it happened and it was no one’s fault. Marco was happy, a developer working a game company who made a series of games Jean sort of loved and dating a perfectly nice beta guy for the past year, and Jean was still happy, insanely so, but sometimes he looked around his place and wondered what he actually knew.

Twenty four and Ymir and Historia were getting married this time and of course Marco is there as his sister’s best man. The beta guy is gone but Jean doesn’t ask, doesn't really care because he'd sort of hated that guy and how Marco had smiled at him anyway. They drank and talked and if Marco drug him into a closet and sucked his brain out through his dick while he tried to muffle his shouts in someone else's coat that was their business. 

But maybe there were some knowing looks and some questions over the months and maybe most of those questions were him asking himself why he didn’t pick up the fucking phone and call Marco and why didn’t Marco call him? And he was still content to be alone, wasn't lonely exactly...but he missed Marco. 

Twenty five came and they saw each other again at Sasha and Connie’s wedding, that time Jean was the best man, and they talked more while drinking less. That night, a hot sticky September night with only the breeze from his huge windows to cool them down, with Marco humming against his neck and into his mouth, their legs and fingers tangled together, fitting together like that was how it was supposed to work, Marco’s teeth on his neck for the first time making him tear up, he accepted that maybe he hadn’t ever actually known shit and that it was okay.

And decided that knotting was way better than he remembered and that he’d been avoiding alphas for years but maybe that had been a bad call. Or not a bad call because secretly he liked that this was something he’d only done with Marco. 

Still twenty five and he gets married, breathless while looking into dark brown eyes that were bright with love and want and happiness. Maybe they should have waited longer than 9 months after falling into bed together, got to know each other again, but then again it was Marco and no one had ever known him better. He was sweating something awful in his tux, in front of their families and friends who smiled and cried and insisted they’d known all along they’d end up back together, and Jean couldn’t help but think that maybe this was better than the original plan anyway. 

They lived in his apartment, existed together like they’d never not been doing it. He loved waking up and seeing Marco, bedhead, half open eyes, and muttered complaints about work and adulthood, loved stumbling out of the shower to find coffee made just how he liked, loved distracting both of them from getting dressed with kisses and laughter, loved knowing that Marco was his and that this was their life.

They slept late on weekends and ate breakfast in bed, drank wine while they cooked dinner, played video games on the couch, argued and swore loudly, made up softly, had sex just about everywhere whenever they could (and Jean’s favorite was with his back against the window and his legs around Marco’s waist so they agreed it was a good thing the apartment faced the river and was 17 floors up.) 

Jean was sure he could never want anything more than that.

Twenty six and Ymir and Historia have a son. They fly out and see them, carefully avoid the baby, and fly back home without having ever actually touched it. Marco is a great long distance uncle, buys complicated baby toys and face times a lot but didn’t seem interested in being the hands on sort.

Still twenty six and he’s looking down at Hitch and Marlow’s first kid, trying to figure out how the squishy alien looking thing with dark eyes and wispy blond hair had been worth dealing with his  sister’s hormonal angry ass and their parents bemoaning that Hitch wasn’t married for 9 months. There’s a lot of cooing as they pass her around but when they leave he and Marco are in agreement that the baby is actually kind of weird and ugly. 

Still Jean tolerates Hitch and the pup, drops by more often he used to because his sister can't manage to make any other mommy friends because she's a foul mouthed tool and, also, hates when people refer to her as Lizzie’s mommy. It’s years of familiarity that makes him not tell Hitch to fuck off when the baby is plopped into his arms and luck that keeps him from dropping the frighteningly fragile baby on her head but it’s something else that makes him hold Lizzie and wonder what it's like to look at someone and see bits of yourself there.

It’s whatever that was that made him look at Marco and think about little faces covered in freckles. 

Eren was pregnant and the very idea sort of made Jean’s head hurt. 

He’d never given any real thought to kids before, just figured it wasn’t for him or them, and it hadn’t ever been that he was actively against the idea...just that there was other stuff to do and see and they were happy and he liked being happy.

He brought up kids one night and Marco looked terrified but pleased and they decided to see what happened. Birth control was tossed and they never said they were ‘trying’, just not ‘preventing’ and the line was non-existent except that it seemed less intense that way. 

There was, as it turned out, a certain charm to being fucked and knotted during a heat without a bunch of outside hormones in his body and that was something else no one had ever told him in sex ed. 

Twenty seven and they’d done this, the test and the waiting, a few times now. Each time there’d been a ‘not pregnant’ in the window and Jean was starting to wonder if he was doing something wrong or if something was wrong with him or if this just wasn’t supposed to happen. For the first time in a while he could honestly say he really wasn’t happy. Marco tried to be patient but Jean could tell it was getting to him too, or maybe just that Jean’s moods were starting to rub off. 

Eren has Abigail and she was all golden curls, a little round nose, and green eyes and Jean wasn’t sure how to feel about two of his best friends since elementary school having a kid at all.

But this test had just one word in the window and the only time he could remember being close to that happy was when they got married. It made sense then that when he woke up in the middle of the night a month later, clutching his stomach and swearing loud enough around terrible cramps to wake Marco up, and the ‘pregnant’ became not, that he couldn't remember ever feeling worse. 

They didn't talk about it much and that probably wasn't the way to handle it but that was just who he was when things hurt. They were cleared to try again, told that sometimes things just happened, got mad because that was a shit answer, and didn't have sex for two months. 

Twenty eight and Eren was accidently knocked up again before Abby was even four months old, looking at having a one year old at the same time as a newborn, and pissed. He bitched non-stop about Armin’s stupid fucking dick and Jean wanted to strangle him but that seemed pretty inappropriate considering.

Still twenty eight and the test he almost didn’t take because he’d rather it be the flu says yes for the second time and he’s too scared to be as happy as he should be. He called off work, nudged Marco awake to tell him, was wrapped up and held close by his alpha, and they stayed in bed with Marco’s hands on his stomach all morning, like he’d be able to feel the tiny fragile thing in there if they were quiet and still enough. 

They were maybe overly cautious for the first few months, worried over the little thing because last time had barely been ‘pregnant’ before it had been gone. He gave up coffee and bacon and sushi cold turkey, ate better, got more active because that all seemed like the stuff to do and he hated every second of it until he didn’t. 

He got sick often but didn’t say a word even though Eren was four months ahead of him (with twins he’d told them blithely while glaring at Armin like he was the devil) and chronically sick as well. Lost weight but never asked Krista what she did when everything looked or smelled terrible even though he knew she’d had the same problem. 

It was a weird kind of lonely.

They listened to the heartbeat, Marco’s hand clutching his so tightly it hurt, and got blurry pictures they couldn’t make heads or tails of but stuck on the fridge anyway, and decided to keeping waiting to tell anyone else, just incase. 

Waited and waited.  

Four months and everyone was happy for them. Marco’s parents were calling more (they’d long since moved closer to Ymir), Historia and Ymir had tips and thoughts and speaking to them daily became the usual thing, Hitch was Hitch, and his parents were around more, as excited for their second grandchild as they were the first and he wanted to be excited with them. Couldn’t, because he was tense and nervous and still worried about the just incase but they’d never told anyone else and couldn’t tell them now, when everyone was so happy, so he worried alone. 

Except Marco worried too, he told him one night while resting holding Jean close and nuzzling the bond mark. It got a little easier after that. 

Six months in and they started packing up the apartment because they’d gotten a bigger place in a more family friendly neighborhood. Jean was going to miss the place but they could afford bigger and more space sort of seemed like good idea. They had boxes full of baby stuff to put together, more tiny onesies and sleepers in greens and yellows then Jean could imagine one baby needing, and no real room to put any of it. 

The new place had bay windows in the master bedroom that faced the fenced in backyard so he figured he could learn to love it. He was less enamored with getting fat but figured it was normal and expected and those things were good because he still worried and thought about the first pregnancy often, probably more than he should have. 

He complained a lot but maybe he liked how much Marco touched him, lingering touches on his swelling stomach, and liked waking up to find his mate talking quietly to the baby in there even though he called it sappy and stupid to Marco’s face. 

He was tired (“Fuck pregnancy yoga you fucking sadist.” was what he groaned every Monday and Wednesday when Marco tried to get him to go and “Shove your walk around the block up your ass.” was common even though it didn't make sense. Marco know what he meant and that was what mattered) and hot and uncomfortable and hot and insanely horny all of the time (that one, at least, was easily and eagerly remedied) and hot (fuck summer pregnancies) but thankfully had stopped being sick all the time.

They feel the baby move for the first time. Jean about fell down the stairs in shocked dismay at the sudden fluttering under his skin and, while Marco sat and waited to try and feel it too, solemnly informed his mate that this is how things started going wrong in ‘Alien’.

Seven months in and, standing in Eren and Armin’s living room while three babies screamed in unison, he started questioning his life choices. 

A look at Marco found him very clearly doing the same. 

“Oh fuck you two.” Eren muttered as he brushed past them after shutting and locking the front door to head to the bassinet one of the twins was in. “I hope you have twins and that they both have colic and you never know what sleep is.” 

To be fair they weren’t actually all screaming. Abby was just sniffling and rubbing at her eyes, Finn (Jean was pretty sure it was Finn but he was pretty vague on which was which) was whining and hiccuping, and Carl was the only one actually bawling his head off.

“Why would you even put that into the universe like that?” Jean asked as he frowned down at himself. There was absolutely no way there was more than one baby in there. 

He was pretty sure. 

They’d decided to just go in blind, no details at all other than ‘everything looks good’ after the first ultrasound, and suddenly he wasn’t sure that had been a good decision. But...no. Impossible. Eren had been huge, like he’d swallowed an oversized beach ball, and Jean was considerably less...huge. Not all beach ball like. At least he didn’t think he was.

Was he? 

Marco would have told him if he was that big, wouldn’t he? 

Another look at the alpha found brown eyes focused on his stomach, lips pursed in an sort of thoughtfully horrified expression. 

“That’s the caffeine withdrawal talking.  We aren’t quite at the ‘wishing misfortune on innocent babies’ stage yet.” Armin insisted. He looked frazzled, hair mussed, eyes tired, and the smile he offered them lopsided and weak. The other twin was lying over his knees, belly down as Armin rubbed his back, and hiccuping wetly while Abigail sat tucked against his side on the couch, puffy eyed and sniffling. “We are...having a rough afternoon.” 

“Again.” Eren added. The baby had quieted some now that he was in Eren's arms, his head pressed to Eren’s shoulder. “Sorry, I guess. This isn't exactly a shining moment.”

If Armin looked tired then Eren looked about two steps up from the walking dead, longer than usual hair pushed messily behind his ears and threatening to fall forward, dark smudges under his eyes, tan skin looking washed out, and a scowl that seemed somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed in place. Two months out from having the twins and he was softer than he usually was physically but no longer looked like was smuggling a bunch of watermelons under his shirt. 

Personality wise he was still a dick. 

Armin’s lips turned down just slightly. “We were going to call but. This. Time got away from us.” 

“It’s fine.” Marco says, eyes darting around the living room as they sat down on the loveseat. It was jam packed, toys and various baby holding furniture in all the available space, two laundry baskets, and some half folded laundry on the coffee table. It wasn't messy, exactly, but it was...full. 

“We can come back some other time.” His mate offered lightly. Eren shook his head. 

“Doctor said they might be colicky until they’re six months and you'll be crying over your own kid by then. I want to get this done before you know better.” 

Jean sincerely hoped there wasn't going to be any crying. He seemed to recall Eren being less stressed out when it had been just Abby...but maybe not because he also remembered a quiet confession about the other omega being worried they hadn't been ready and were in over their heads.

He found himself twisting a small light blanket in his hands at the memory.

“But,” Armin added as he ruffled Abby’s hair then drew her a little closer. Chubby hands fisted in his t-shirt and she turned head to rub her face against him. “The pediatrician thinks a different diet might help.” 

“...for the babies?” Marco’s expression mirrored Jean's confusion. He was pretty sure at two months their diet consisted of milk and their parent's misery.

Armin squinted at them and Eren muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘idiots’ as he shifted the baby in his arms.

“No, mine.” That made a lot more sense, which was to say any at all, but was also veering them toward Jean's least favorite subject: nursing. 

On the long list of things people had sort of glossed over the whole sensitive nipples thing as well as ‘well how did you think male omegas fed their pups before you could buy formula or milk a cow? Also don't give your fucking kid cow's milk’ was high on his ‘wtf’ list lately. The answer was that he'd never fucking thought about it and that it was weird. 

At least he thought it was weird. Marco seemed to think it was amusing but Marco was sometimes a terrible terrible person who thought his discomfort was funny. It was amazing that anyone had every married or bonded with him considering what a jerk the alpha could be. 

He did give amazing back rubs. 

It sort of balanced out. 

“Apparently large amounts of life sustaining coffee can upset their stomachs. And dairy but who gives a shit about cutting out milk?” Eren muttered then sighed when the twin he was holding started making louder fussier noises as if in response to his irritation. 

Armin made a sympathetic face then let his eyes slide over to them. “Four days with no caffeine for anyone.” 

“Is that why you look like that?” Jean asked, ignoring Marco’s long drawn out sigh and Armin’s wince. Eren didn’t say anything, too busy rubbing his son’s back and making soft shushing noises, but if looks could kill the cold one he leveled at Jean would have done the job a few times over. 

Jean smiled back, fighting laughter, and Eren rolled his eyes. 

“Oh. I suppose I was asking for that.” Armin’s quiet words made him turn that way again. Finn (had to be Finn with that wispy blond hair. Probably. Maybe.) had coughed and covered the small alpha’s thigh in milky vomit that, actually, smelled awful. And there was so much. 

How was something so small holding all of that? The bottomless pit nature of infants was something he couldn’t figure out even after all the time he’d spent with his niece and Abby.

Armin looked less concerned with his pants and more worried about the baby he was now holding tucked against him. Which, Jean figured, was how that was supposed to work. He could see Finn’s face scrunching up as face turned pink and his mouth opened wide. Jean braced himself for the crying but still found himself cringing when it happened. Armin just blinked then rubbed at his eyes. 

Eren crossed the distance between them quickly then stopped, head cocking to the side as he seemed to consider the situation. His eyes flickered to Abigail and, shifting Carl slightly, he bent down and scooped her up to prop her on his hip.  

His mate made a noise of thanks then stood up and, with a shrug as he looked at them, headed for the stairs. He stepped over the baby gate and then was hurrying upstairs with the sound of his quiet crooning to Finn trailing after. Eren watched Armin go then turned to look at them; Jean could see the intent in his slightly narrowed eyes. 

The other omega stepped close and, after an assessing look at Jean’s stomach, leaned down to hand Abby to Marco. Who looked like someone had just handed him a bomb. He was sort of holding Abby like she might be a bomb actually, hands under her armpits and holding her slightly away from himself. Abby had stopped sniffling and was now peering up at Marco with confused eyes. Her socked feet kicked and she made a gurgling noise. Even Carl was quiet, but that might have been because he’d gotten his mouth on his fist and seemed content trying to engage in self-cannibalism. 

Jean understood Abigail’s confusion completely. What the fuck was Marco doing? He looked like he was a good three seconds from losing his grip and, seriously, if he dropped Abby Jean was going to be forced to let Eren kick his ass. And then ban him from ever holding their baby. 

“Why are you holding my daughter like she’s an angry cat?” Eren asked, eyebrow going up in question. He didn’t look all that concerned, more like he was about to laugh. Abby gurgled again, legs kicking harder. 

Marco had the grace to look sheepish. “I’ve never held a baby before. I sort of...thought I would just  _ know _ what to do when the baby came?” 

Eren looked at Jean. Jean stared back, shrugging helplessly. Now that he was thinking about it though he didn’t recall ever seeing Marco hold any actual babies. He played with Lizzie when they babysat but Lizzie was nearly three now so it was far from the same thing. 

“You’re having a kid with this guy?” Marco made an offended noise. 

“I’m rethinking it.” Jean said, eyeing Marco skeptically. 

Marco made a louder, more offended noise. Green eyes flicked down to his stomach pointedly. “Might be too late.” 

Jean touched his stomach with mock thoughtfulness. The baby wasn’t moving around, probably tired out from all the kicking they’d been doing that morning and all last night, and he appreciated the reprieve. “I don’t have to keep both of them.” 

Eren cracked a smile then, ruffling Abby’s hair and earning himself a pleased coo, arranged his face into something resembling seriousness. “If you drop her I’ll tear out your throat.” 

Abby found herself much closer to Marco after that and, at the very least, no longer dangling over the floor. Jean reached over and helped his alpha move the baby around, grateful that Abby was old enough to support herself for the most part, and watched Eren settle onto the couch out of the corner of his eye. 

The other omega ran a finger over his son’s face, smiling faintly, then brushed at the shock of dark hair on Carl’s head. If Jean hadn’t known better he would have thought Eren actually looked happy and not like he was considering tearing out his hair or abandoning ship. Then Eren looked up and narrowed his eyes at him.

“Does nursing still freak you out?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Yes.” 

“Tough.” Eren smirked then, laughing at what Jean was sure was an annoyed look, shook his head. “Watch Abby for a few minutes and I’ll spare you the sight. Bottle’s in the fridge if she gets fussy. You know what to do.” 

Jean had never actually been alone with Abby. There had never been much cause to be since Eren had started out slightly paranoid and frantic and, by the time he’d mellowed out, had been pregnant again and hating everyone except his daughter. And especially Armin. In fact Jean was pretty sure Eren still hated Armin, or at least hated Armin’s dick. Still he was pretty sure he could manage to keep one baby from coming to harm while her parents were a few rooms, or stairs, away. 

He nodded and, with one last flinty look at a very uncomfortable looking Marco, Eren was headed up the stairs as well. 

Which just left them. And Abby. She was on Marco’s lap, one of his hands behind her back to keep her from tipping, with her head against him. She seemed to find wiping her snotty nose on Marco’s t-shirt to be the most worthwhile task in the world judging by her pinched expression. Marco was watching her carefully, like he expected her to make a run for it at any moment, but looked slightly less bothered than he had a moment ago. 

Something warm bloomed in Jean’s chest. 

...oh god, he was starting to get sappy about his mate holding babies. This was it, the beginning of the end for him. Next thing he knew he’d be crying at nothing and everything and forgetting where he’d put his cell phone while actively on his cell phone. And there were still so many weeks to go.

And it was so hot. An August due date had to be the actual worse thing that could happen to a person. It was unfair, really, because he was a good person who didn’t deserve to be roughly twenty pounds heavier, pumping blood for two people, and awash with stupid hormones in the middle of the fucking summer. There was no amount of open windows or ice chips or sitting in front of the fan that could do anything about it either. He was a sweaty mess most of the time and, no matter how much Marco insisted he looked like, it was starting to wear thin. 

And it was worth it and it was what he’d wanted but a few months later would have been better. Or if- No, better not to entertain that thought at all. 

But it really was so hot.

“I wouldn’t drop the baby.” Marco said suddenly, making Jean jump in surprise as his thoughts were intruded on. 

“Huh? Abby? No, you’re doing fine.” Jean said, blinking. Abby was rubbing her eyes again and, without really thinking, he reached out to stop her only to end up with a spit covered hand curling around his fingers. He smiled and she smiled back. “Besides, Eren dropped her once. Armin's dropped her twice, actually.” 

Admittedly he’d fumbled her into the crib both times that Jean had been witness to, and Abby had seemed none the worse for wear, but Marco didn’t need to know all that. Jean was being understanding and encouraging and he couldn’t let small details get in the way of that. 

“Our baby.” Marco looked almost petulant for a second then, tipping his head towards the baby, added. “Not Abby either, obviously but...I mean. I wouldn’t hurt them.”

Jean considered, for more than a few seconds, making a joke or rolling his eyes or just giving his mate a little shit because he could. But taking in Marco’s deadly serious face and the undercurrent of very real hurt in his voice kept him from doing so. Instead he nodded and put a hand on the other man’s knee.

“I know.” He tried to push all the feeling he had, the fact that he trusted Marco and had wanted to have his child more than anything and was sure he’d be an amazingly wonderful and thoughtful and caring father when the time came. 

And they had two months and a whole host of babies to choose from to teach him the basics so that would help too and whatever else there was they’d figure out together. It wasn’t like babysitting Lizzie or helping with Abby from time to time made him any kind of expert or, as people reminded him in the same breath as warning him he’d never sleep again and fuck he was so tired of that line, that dealing with someone else’s child was going to be like caring for his own.

Maybe all that got across because Marco put a hand over his and smiled. The loathsome warmth in Jean’s chest grew. 

A few minutes passed and Abby did start to fuss, trying to rub at her eyes and nose then trying to eat Jean’s fingers and, Marco noticed, smelling none too fresh. He took her to change her and verbally lead Marco through the bottle warming process. Once she was dry, clean, and had a bottle in her mouth it wasn’t that long at all before she was yawning and nodding off. 

Marco popped the bottle out of her mouth when she seemed to be asleep and carefully leaned forward to set it on the coffee table then looked towards the ceiling. 

“It’s been a little bit.” 

Jean spared a look towards the clock on the wall then nodded his agreement. Eren had been gone almost 30 minutes and, other then the sound of running water almost right after he’d gone up, there hadn’t been any sound at all. 

“You think they’re fucking?” Marco asked, grinning. 

Jean snorted. “No. Eren is never ever letting Armin near him again.”

Probably not ‘never’, really, but probably not for a while. At least not until the twins were well past the age Abby had been when Eren had gotten pregnant again. Or maybe ‘never’. Who knew, really? They’d been going at it like rabbits since they were in freshman year of high school, as far as Jean knew, so he hadn’t exactly been shocked at two pregnancies so close together. Eren and Armin, however, had been floored. 

Armin had ruefully shrugged when they’d announced it and muttered what had sounded a lot like ‘you forget the condom twice in fifteen years.’ 

“I guess I should check on them?” Marco said after a pause. Jean shrugged; as long as they hadn’t climbed out a window (which seemed unlikely) he wasn’t all that concerned. They had to go past the living room to get out the front door after all, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. 

Marco, however, didn’t share his disinterest. Once he’d gotten Abby arranged on a blanket on the couch he headed off. Jean briefly entertained the idea of there being a psychotic killer or alien monster up there, picking them off one by one because they were too stupid to just stay downstairs. He’d seen a movie like that and distinctly recalled yelling ‘Just leave morons!’ at the tv while Marco had laughed. 

He dismissed it quickly favor of rubbing small soothing circles on Abby’s back when she started making stuffed up snuffling noises. Marco returned unharmed but carefully cradling one of the twins (Dark hair, so Carl) and with a sheath of papers under his arm. Jean eyed his mate as he stepped over the baby gate then, when satisfied that Marco had a hand behind the baby's head and his other arm supporting Carl’s lower half, arched an eyebrow. 

“I think being dismembered might have been better.” It was a true testament to their years together that Marco didn’t even twitch. “What’re you doing?”

“They’re sleeping. This one was awake. Seemed like the thing to do.” 

“Sleeping.” 

Marco shrugged. “Yeah. They’re tired, right?”

The papers were handed over to him and, deliberately not watching Marco sit down or reaching out to correct his hold, he flipped through them. It took a few minutes, during which Marco made devastatingly and stupidly adorable faces at the baby, before Jean was satisfied that all the boring legalese basically amounted to that if Eren and Armin ever died and then Mikasa died he and Marco would raise the kids. 

Which, now that he was thinking about it, seemed like a fucking awful idea. He’d been flattered at the time, there was a fair amount of trust even in being the hail mary backup play, but he was positive they were looking at one and done. The prospect of ending up with three more kids made him lightheaded. 

Or maybe he was hungry. “We should order pizza.” 

\---

Armin very kindly removed the slice of pizza from Eren’s hand and replaced it with a breadstick. Eren glowered at the breadstick, at Armin, at the pizza, and finally back at Armin. 

“I hate you.” He kept his voice pitched low, since Abby was still asleep on the couch, but the conviction wasn’t lessened by the volume. Carl was asleep as well, back in his bassinet, and Finn was still upstairs, monitored by the baby radio next to Eren’s foot. 

Apparently everyone being asleep at once wasn’t exactly a novel concept but it wasn’t as common as either Eren or Armin would have liked. 

Armin nodded. “I know.” 

“I can’t even have pizza.” 

“It’s tragic.” Armin agreed. Not so tragic that he was eating the pizza that he’d liberated from his mate, who was watching the cheese pull and drip like a man in the desert would look at water, but tragic enough that he patted Eren’s thigh sympathetically. 

They’d come downstairs, half awake and slightly panicked, at the sound of the pizza guy arriving. They’d calmed down when they realized Carl hadn’t been carried off by goblins and looked downright grateful when Jean had explained Marco had taken the infant so they could sleep and that there was pizza. Mostly about the pizza.

Right up until Armin had pointed out that no dairy meant no cheese which seemed to completely defeat the entire point of pizza to Eren.

“Never again.” 

“I know.” Armin said around a mouthful of pizza. “Jerking off alone for the rest of my life. Understood.”

Eren glared harder then, with a huff, reached for the papers on the table. “You signed them?” 

Jean chewed his own breadstick slowly, considering the disgustingly adult discussion he and Marco had engaged in while waiting for the pizza guy, then nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Thanks.” He said as he flipped through the pages. “We appreciate it.” 

“If you die I will be pissed.” 

Marco let out that long deep sigh again. 

Eren didn’t even bother looking up. “We’ll keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want to piss you off.” 

“I appreciate you being considerate of my feelings.” Jean deadpanned. 

Eren’s response was a single raised finger and a bored “Fuck you.” 

“On the upside if we die, and Mikasa dies, at least Marco can try to undo all the foul language you’re cramming into their heads.” Blue eyes focused on Jean for a moment and then Armin shook his head mournfully. “Nevermind.” 

 


	2. The Crib Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people have fun or cute stories about what they were doing when they went into labor. Jean is not one of those people.

“I'm pretty sure that part is upside down.” Jean said, tilting his head to the side as he considered the mess his mate was making of the bedroom. Or rather the small room off of their bedroom (fine, very large walk in closet but it wasn't like they needed two) that they fully intended to be the nursery but hadn't actually done much to aside from painting the walls, having sex on the floor midway through said painting, and dragging a lot of boxes into.

Which was a problem because Jean was a little over a week past his due date, literally about to pop at any moment, and they didn't actually have anywhere to put the baby when they brought it home. He wasn't exactly sure how they'd ended up quite so behind the curve, it wasn't like they'd been doing much the past month. Marco was working mostly from home and he...well he was fat and tired. 

They did have the playpen-bassinet thing Marco’s parents had given them put together but he was hoping it didn't come to that. He was sure it was fine but, at the same time, it looked sketchy and Jean didn't want to start out the whole parenthood thing putting the kid into weird contraptions. 

What he wanted, more than anything else in the entire fucking world, was to be done with the pregnancy thing. He'd been ready to be done weeks ago, super done ten days ago, and was now somewhere between ‘holy shit get it out of me’ and ‘just kill me please.’ 

He had another few days, at least to the 14 day mark to be ‘overdue enough’, before anyone would even consider inducing him. It was hell. Hot, late August weather and do-it-yourself furniture hell. At first he'd figured they were morons so to the extra time was appreciated but he'd gotten over that about 2 days past the date. 

And it wasn't like the extra time was helping Marco any. He'd struggled through the changing table and baby swing, given up on the high chair (his reasoning had been they wouldn't need it for months, which was oddly similar to what they'd said to each other whenever building the crib had come up) and now this. 

This being Marco trying to hold up the side board of the crib with one hand and his hip while attempting to screw it into place with the other.

Upside down. 

A dirty look was shot his way. “How can you even tell?”

“The thicker railings go up top.” Jean pointed at the instruction booklet, and the pictures therein, as he spoke. Marco looked down at the booklet at his feet, frowning severely before sighing and letting the piece drop with a soft thud.

“Fuck it.” His alpha said, falling onto the floor in what Jean couldn't help but think was an overly dramatic heap. “I quit. I'm going to take it out back and burn the damn thing.” 

He arched an eyebrow. “Wow, the mouth on you.” Marco snorted. “And where are we going to put the baby?” 

Because just about every baby book he'd touched screamed about the danger of letting an infant sleep in the bed with their parents and the evils of not having a proper space outside of the parent's bedroom because of over attachment and some other stuff he couldn't exactly recall. 

“They seem fine where they are.” Marco said, eyes as big and innocent as Jean had ever seen them. “Comfortable even. Don't you want our child to be comfortable Jean?”

As if hearing Marco’s words there was a shifting under his skin and a sharp pain above his kidneys. He winced then smoothed a hand over the area while glaring flatly at his mate. 

“Don't say dumb shit. It upsets the baby.” He nodded at the mess that might one day be a crib. “You're making it harder than it has to be.” 

“You put it together then.” Marco groused. He looked apologetic a second later, lips turning downward as he raked a hand through sweaty hair. “I'm sorry. That isn't fair and I didn't mean-” 

Jean made a dismissive noise then, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, pushed himself to his feet. He was lightheaded for a second but was more or less used to that and the off balance feeling that had become the norm around month 6. He waddled (Marco insisted he didn't waddle but Jean had been up close and personal with enough pregnant people at this point to know his mate was just trying to comfort him. He waddled and no longer had ankles. These were just facts.) over to a startled looking Marco. 

His mate jumped up, hands up with the palms facing him and shaking his head. “What are you doing? You promised you'd stay in the chair.”

Jean was sort of on a bedrest order that consisted of staying put unless he was using the bathroom. He was doing a shit job of following it and Marco was doing a shit job of trying to make him. 

“I lied.” Just like the last time and the time before that.

Marco’s eye twitched. Jean smirked at him then, taking a deep breath, used his mate’s body to brace himself and hold onto as he tried to lever himself into the ground. It was harder than it sounded, what with the weird center of gravity, the inability to see his feet, and his lack of a waist, but he was pretty sure he could manage it. 

Marco stood there, watching him with a blank expression, then sighed before helping him down into a sitting position. He grumbled the entire time, something about stubborn asshole husbands, and when Jean was finally settled and pouring over the directions he stood there, mouth set in a stubborn line.

Jean ignored it. He ran his finger over the picture thoughtfully, compared the image to what Marco had done, and hummed.

“Baby, hand me the allen wrench.” 

Marco didn't move for a second then, with a huffy noise, sat next to him before reaching for the tool in question. “tell me what to do then. Fuck me if I'm going to let you put it together alone.”

Jean squinted, irritation flaring up. He was pretty sick of being told to sit, or lie, down while other people did things for him. “You don't think I can do it? The pregnant omega can't-”

“You know that's not what I mean.” Another flat look. “But you can't sit down without help so how are you going to hold up any of the pieces?”

That...was a fair enough question. Jean hadn't gotten past ‘you do it then’ in his plan. He was better at putting things together and building stuff than Marco and, if not for the whole pregnant thing, he could have had it done an hour ago on his own. His mate was many amazing things but good with tools wasn't one of them. Having to watch him assemble things was actually painful.

Labor couldn't possibly come soon enough. 

He breathed out through his nose. “Fine.” 

They managed that plan for about twenty minutes, during which they undid some of what Marco had done, got the headboard up, and got one of the sides up properly, Marco holding while Jean got the bolts in. It was actually going well, as far a he could tell, when he realized Marco was watching him very intently. He frowned over the top of the directions. 

“What?” 

“Just coming to terms with being a terrible husband.” 

Jean rolled his eyes. “The worst.”

Marco smiled slightly. “You're a million weeks pregnant-”

“Jesus.” 

“And you're building the crib because I'm terrible.” He was laughing as he said it, and looked genuinely amused, but Jean suspected there was some seriousness to his words. Alphas were touchy about their mates and being good providers and even more touchy when it came to providing for their pregnant mates. Marco, who was generally pretty mellow, had gotten prickly a few times over the past months about things he wouldn't normally even register, like Jean asking their neighbors to help him move things around while he was at work. 

Not that he could hold it against him much. Jean was riding the ‘freaky behavior’ train too. Their bed and couch were basically nests now, covered in the softest things he could find and built up along the sides with fluffy pillows and towels and the smoothest sheets and the one time he'd noticed Marco had moved something he'd had a small breakdown about it. 

So. Weird shit abounds. Marco had indulged his nesting without so much as a complaint about the lack of towels. And he'd tolerated the brief pitstop into ‘absolute crazy’ so he could be understanding.

He tossed the directions aside then, when Marco blinked down at him, held out his arms to be helped up. He was hauled to his feet and helped over to the bed, which he collapsed onto gratefully. He made himself scoot back into the nest fully, using his foot to push what he'd flattened into place.

It took a moment to push himself up to rest on his elbows so he could see beyond the swell of his stomach and make eye contact with his alpha again. “I'm tired. I'm confident you can manage the rest so I'll just watch from here. Quietly.” 

Maybe.

Marco eyed him skeptically then laughed quietly. “How about I bring the directions and you keep shouting orders?”

Jean nodded. “I can do that.”

Marco headed back to the nursery and Jean closed his eyes for a moment, tilting to lean to the side so he could semi-comfortably rub at his stomach again. His back was hurting, probably from sitting on the floor, and the baby seemed to want to focus all their attacks on his side today. 

“Your baby is an asshole.” 

“Must be inherited.” Came the immediate response. “...from me. Of course. I'm basically the king of assholes.”

He noted the sarcasm then dismissed it in favor of clucking his tongue scoldingly. “Again with the mouth.”

Marco gave him a lot of shit for his mouth so he really couldn't let the (in comparison) small amount of cursing slide. If he had to clean up his language it was only right they both did. 

“You like my mouth.” 

Jean opened his eyes to stare at his mate. Sweaty, shirtless, barefoot, and smiling at him teasingly from his place at the foot of the bed. He had the directions in hand but suddenly Jean was less concerned with the crib. It would keep a little while longer.

“You know what you could use it for instead of talking?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Marco pursed his lips then glanced back at the crib. “Right now? I thought you were tired?” 

“You'd rather work on that?” Fuck, what was his life coming to that he was about to be denied sex? “Is it because I'm huge?”

Because he totally could have understood that. He wasn't exactly at his best by any stretch, which was to say nothing of his participation ability. He had a whole beached whale thing going on.

“No, it's because you'll fall asleep right after you get off and then I'll never get this crib built.” Marco said, expression daring him to deny any of what he'd said. “And you aren't huge. I wish you'd stop saying that.”

He flopped flat on his back. Which was horrible; he felt a little like he was suffocating but then nothing was comfortable anymore so what did it matter? 

“I can't even see my own dick anymore. That's huge.”

“That isn't...really?” Marco leaned over him, eyes curious now. “Since when?”

“Since you knocked me up and won't suck my dick, you jerk.” He muttered. His mate pouted in what was clearly mock sympathy. 

He could tell this line of conversation wasn't getting him anywhere and, since he tended to go from 0 to ‘incredibly horny’ in no time at all these days and was half hard now, that meant he needed a new tactic. 

Marco retreated from his field of vision, probably to get back to work. He laid there, glaring up at the ceiling, trying to think of something better. He wasn't used to this; usually just the hint that he was in the mood was enough to get Marco going (and vice versa). This sudden responsible streak his alpha was exhibiting wasn't working for him. It was just like how he refused to let him go on walks even though Eren insisted that had helped get Abby moving when she'd been two days late. 

Convincing Marco to let him shuffle around the house was one thing but full blown walks around the block were something else. Which was crazy, since at this rate Jean was going to be pregnant and stuck in bed forever. 

Though. Now that he was thinking about it Eren had provided a little bed friendly advice. 

“Hey,” He pushed himself back up, quietly relieved when the pressure on his front shifted. “I think a blow job will help with the baby.”

Marco didn't even turn around from he was doing. “You made that up.”

Jean gasped. “How could you say that? You think I would lie?”

“Yeah.” 

Rude. “Eren said sex is supposed to help induce. Orgasms and internal spasms or something.” 

Marco was quiet for a minute then reached back into his pants pocket to fish out his phone. Jean waited, silently hoping Eren hadn't been lying (he wouldn't put it past him.). Finally Marco shook his head and sighed. 

“Looks like it has something to do with sperm maybe being able to encourage contractions. So. Not a blow job.” 

Jean flexed his fingers against the comforter, letting a few thoughts filter through his mind before nodding. That still worked for him. “Okay. Help roll me onto my side and get my shorts off.”

Marco tossed him a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “What? No.” 

“Yep. Bring your cum over here.” 

“...the romance is really dead isn't it?” 

\---

Jean was sweaty and breathless, his heart pounding like he'd run a marathon, and wide-eyed when the smiling nurse put the tiny squirming and still sort of slimy baby onto his chest then stepped away. Marco was at his side, a hand on his shoulder, looking completely dumbfounded.

“They can't let us have her.” Jean muttered as he put his hands on the back of her head, back, touched tiny legs. How could she be so small? What had she been doing in there if she was still so damn small? “Do they not know we're idiots?” 

Marco nodded as horror slowly dawned on his face. “We had sex instead of finishing the crib. We don't have a place to put her." 

Someone laughed but Jean barely heard them, too busy running his fingers over dark downy hair. This was absolutely not real. At some point someone was going to realize they were nerds who'd spent the past month playing video games and picking on each other and were not at all qualified for baby keeping. At all.  

The nurse popped back over, still grinning, and Jean found himself wanting to hold the baby closer and afraid that if he did he'd hurt her.  "Did you have a name ready or did you want to wait?"

Jean gaped at her then looked up at his husband who had a hand over his eyes and was grimacing.  “Oh my god. We're the worst parents ever.”

Marco moaned quietly in agreement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are for sure the most dramatic parents ever.


End file.
